


The Darkest Night of the Year

by TheGirlInTheBlackVeil



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Rituals, Winter Solstice, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8951647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlInTheBlackVeil/pseuds/TheGirlInTheBlackVeil
Summary: Merlin sneaks out with a woman every year on the same night and Arthur always forgets about it the next day. This year Arthur's determined to find out where they go and why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I did a thing. Thing not edited, oops. It's 4:30am and this thing has to wake up at 7:30, oops.  
> Update (2016/12/24 12:32 am): now edited, apologies, I realized this got less and less comprehensible the closer I got to the end.

The very first year Merlin was in Arthur’s service Arthur remembers casually looking out his window one evening to see two figures scurrying through the courtyard. Like every winter there was a curfew in place to discourage stealing of meager resources therefore Arthur took note of these figures for they were not just two lovers out for a late night stroll. Judging by their gait and attire it really was a man and a woman, logically Arthur should have called the guards or chased after them but no one was in his wing of the castle this late and he knew that should he look away he’d loose the figures in the night. There was something enchanting about these figures too. Perhaps it was the fact they were running _away_ from the castle without seeming to have stolen anything, perhaps it was because there was something familiar about the man, he just couldn’t place his finger on it. Then, as if answering his unvoiced question the figures step close enough to a low burning fire that he can see more than just their outlines. It can’t be… but it looks like… before he can confirm what he thinks he saw the figures are out of the light and in the next moment out of sight as they tuck around the corner. He can’t follow after them so there’s now only one way to know for sure. A trek down to the physician’s chambers proves it, the little room that is Merlin’s is empty. That was him breaking curfew and sneaking off into the bitter winter night with some woman Arthur didn’t recognize. Somehow he knows immediately that he won’t bring this to his father’s attention but he’s unsure if he should even bring it up. It reflects badly on him if Merlin is found breaking curfew, then again maybe it was an emergency or maybe he really was just sneaking out with his lover and who is Arthur to deny him such comforts on this cold dark night? If he brings it up it might seem like he was spying on Merlin but if he doesn’t someone else might discover him breaking curfew and the punishment would be much worse. He decides he will bring it up in the morning, might be able to tease Merlin about it, the boy’s hilarious when he turns red and gets nervous. And with that settled Arthur returns to his chambers and to his bed and sleeps soundly.

In the morning he’s completely forgotten.

The following years find him on edge during the longest night of the year and he never knows why. He can’t tear his gaze away from the window he just feels like something is going to happen. And it always does. Two figures, a man and a woman, break curfew and sneak through the courtyard. It’s Merlin every time but he can’t tell if it’s the same woman for he never has time to examine her. The moment he realizes it’s Merlin he remembers, remembers this occurring on this night year after year and every year he always seems to forget and is never any closer to finding out _why_.

It’s been almost ten years since Merlin entered Arthur’s service when Arthur’s luck finally changes.

Like every year before he finds himself at his window and unsure of why, yet unable to pull away even though Guinevere had called him to bed ages ago. That is until there is an abrupt and raucous knock at his chamber doors. From the corner of his eye he sees Guinevere startle and sit bolt upright, probably expecting news of Morgana attacking but the knock was not that urgent and the warning bells have not sounded. Still, he is unable to look away and his frustration makes itself known in his voice when he calls “what is it”.

“Forgive us sire, but a family was caught stealing grain from the reserves. They await your judgement in the throne room.” Seriously, could this not wait until morning? Could they not spend the night in the cells or better yet could his knights not come up with an ideal punishment themselves? Mordred has become very dear to him but at this moment he feels like he could murder the young man.

It is then he realizes his wife is beside him, shaking him slightly enquiring about his well-being, asking if he heard, and why hasn’t he come to bed yet? And there must be something seriously wrong with him because first he’s thinking about killing Mordred and now of throwing Guinevere off of him. With a strength that feels super human he is finally able to tear himself away from the window and makes for the throne room, denying Guinevere come with him and sending her back to bed when she enquires.

The matter is quickly dealt with. Apparently the small farming family had their preserves stolen by some bandits terrorising the outer city. He’s not sure why this is the first he is hearing of this but promises to send a patrol first light to deal with the situation and gives the starving family a small bag to satisfy their growling stomachs until the issue is resolved. He’s sent the family away, the guards back to their posts, and is just locking up the grain store preparing to head to bed when two figures streak right past him taking no note of him despite his torch. Over the years it has become easier to recognize Merlin in any context and any condition as he spends nearly every waking hour with the man, it is near impossible not to recognize his voice, his smell, his gait, the sound of his footfalls. And he remembers, oh he remembers, and this year he is going to find out.

He has no time to head back into the castle for more appropriate attire the light coat he was wearing to brave the icy draught within the corridors will have to be enough; besides, Merlin is only wearing his nightshirt, surly they are not going too far. Least he be discovered, either by Merlin and his mysterious woman or his own guards Arthur drops the torch and follows slightly behind the pair. The elements are harsher when they move away from the castle and he soon realizes he was mistaken and that this is apparently going to be a long trip as the pair quickly make their way out of Camelot and into the forest. Arthur has no clue how Merlin is refraining from protesting, isn’t freezing to death, because Arthur’s almost ready to turn back the wind, cold, and cross between snow and ice that’s pelting them from the heavens is almost enough break his will but his curiosity needs to be satisfied. This isn’t just about why Merlin is breaking curfew and who the woman is anymore, no, it’s become so much more than that, the questions piling one on top of the other year after year. Why is it always this day, the longest night of the year? Why does he always forget about it after the night is done? Why does he remember every year when he sees Merlin and the woman again? What causes him to be drawn to the window to watch for them in the first place?

Suddenly Arthur spots light up ahead. Music and loud chatter can be heard soon after, the only reason he didn’t hear it before due to the wind blowing past his ears. This must be it, this must be where they are heading. He almost walks straight into the clearing only managing to retreat and hide behind a pine tree after he realizes his mistake. Luckily all attention is on Merlin and the woman and the crowd has erupted in applause and cheer. Druids. What’s Merlin doing with druids? He peeks from behind his hiding spot hoping no one looks his way since the huge bonfire is providing enough light that he would be visible to all.

The woman speaks up when the noise dies, “I have ventured into the underworld and have located the God and on this night I am pleased to say I have returned him to this world!” The crowd cheers again. “Let it be known that the world is safe once more, no longer shall the earth fall into darkness! As the Lord regains his strength the light will return! We shall be freed of this darkness and this cold, soon life, warmth, and light shall return again! Now let us speed it along, make merry where there was once only fatigue, warm what was once cold, light what was once dark!” At the end of every sentence the crowd cheers and by the end of her speech they have begun to disperse moving to light smaller fires around the camp, preparing food and drink, music has started up again and some have started dancing. Arthur’s not sure exactly what he has stumbled upon, perhaps some kind of celebration? Some kind of ritual?

He should probably leave. He promised that druid boy who had possessed Elyan that the druids were now safe and he has upheld that promise and has no intention of breaking it. He has always thought them a peaceful people and while he knows some of them practice magic he hasn’t seen any of that yet and he can’t remember a time they ever caused him trouble so he has no reason to be here. If they catch him they probably will assume the worst, that he’s here to ambush them, to round them up like his father did and execute them. While their fires look awfully warm and the food smells delicious he would only ruin their celebrations by putting everyone on edge. He has no clue what Merlin has done to earn himself a spot in all of this and a part of him still wants to find out but at the same time he supposes he can’t really punish the man for it. The druids are safe from him now, that means they may live their lives as they please so long as they go on being peaceful, he cannot restrict their contact with the other citizens by making it illegal for anyone to talk to or befriend them. While it feels like Merlin should be in the wrong Arthur can’t find any way in which he actually is. Though it feels like a betrayal for some reason, perhaps because of the secrecy, perhaps because he was doing this when the druids were still declared as criminals; he is actually glad for once that he can expect to return to his bed and wake up none the wiser.

He turns to make leave when he is stopped by a, “Arthur Pendragon will you join us?”

He’s startled, unsure when or how he was discovered. He finds an older druid, one he recognizes from past encounters through he does not know anything about the man except that he might be the leader of this particular band of druids.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say but it seems he doesn’t have to as he finds his unasked questions answered. “Tonight is the winter solstice, the height of the yuletide celebrations. You are more than welcome to join us, one of the important aspects of this celebration is to promote peace. In the days of the old religion countries that were at war with each other would cease fire on this night and make merry together. You are not our enemy and we would be honoured if you joined us even if just to promote peace.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please, come. You must be cold, sit by the fire and drink some wassail with us to help warm you up.”

Arthur wants to protest a bit more but finds himself being easily led by the hand to sit on a log by one of the fires. To his surprise the people merely glance at him, they don’t stare, they don’t protest, they just look at the newcomer and return to their conversations or food. Even if they don’t know who he is it is clear he is not one of them, they dress so differently in homespun cotton, mainly in blues, reds, and greens tonight, cloaks instead of coats, many in sandals or even barefoot instead of in boots. Once he is able to convince himself that this isn’t a trap and he isn’t disturbing the peace he still finds his attention wandering unsure whether he wants to look at the druid leader who has sat next to him and handed him a goblet or track Merlin, who hasn’t noticed him and is now sporting a green cloak and what looks like a crown of holly with antlers, through the crowd. His eyes find themselves more often on the latter and it is not until he absentmindedly takes a sip from his goblet that he even remembers he’s in a druid camp and not trying to amuse himself at some diplomatic feast at the castle.

“This is really good,” Arthur finds himself announcing in true surprise for he’s been told that the key to a good alcoholic beverage is how long it has been aged yet Arthur knew druids travelled a light and often. He once had thought it was because they were being pursued and had to always be on the move but apparently it was a part of their way of life travelling to and from various sites they deemed holy but generally sticking to a certain region. He wonders if they use magic to age it faster.

“Thank you, it’s a combination of cider and various juices and spices, it’s cooked for several days to bring out the flavour.” Arthur looks around the small fire again before turning back to his companion.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“You may call me Iseldir.”

“Iseldir,” Arthur repeats just to ensure he heard correctly and to prove he is paying attention, “and are you the leader of these,” he’s about to say druids but at the last minute flips to, “people?”

“In a sense,” the other man takes a sip of his drink before continuing, “my position as chieftain is very different from your position as king, it was not my birthright, nor is it permanent, if my people wish it so they could choose another to lead them tomorrow. I was chosen to lead this clan partly because of my knowledge, partly because my strength, and partly because I have proved myself both willing and capable.”

“When you say strength…” he trails off not wanting to voice what he has inferred lest he be wrong.

“I mean magic, yes. You need not fear,” Iseldir tells him placing a warm hand on his knee, “you may ask whatever questions you want here and so long as it is not your intention to offend I will not be offended. I was born with my magic, something which has become more and more rare recently. The manifestation of one’s magic without learning signifies great strength and over the years I worked hard to control my powers and in turn my strength grew.”

“That’s possible? To be born with magic I mean?”

“Yes. It is rare to find someone incapable of magic but normally one must spend years learning how to manipulate the energy around us to do their bidding. A few, among us known as warlocks and witches, do not just have the ability to manipulate the energy around them but to produce it. Sometimes it can take years for this energy to manifest, sometimes a person can access that power right away, sometimes the power gradually builds as it did for Morgana Pendragon.”

“She was born with magic?” Arthur asks with something akin to guilt coursing through him.

Iseldir nods, “It started with her ability as a seer, as she aged the dreams became more accurate and more frequent until the dreams were no longer enough to deplete the energy she was creating and, as I understand it, she set fire to her bed and blew out a window.”

Arthur has to look away, his emotions are displayed clearly over his face and he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing them. “You said I was not your enemy but if what you have told me is true then I might as well be condoning people to death for having blue eyes.”

“We have forgiven you Arthur Pendragon. You are not a bad man we know you are trying to do the right thing. Your understanding of the world was shaped by your father and reinforced by your sister and others like her.”

“So despite everything she is right and I probably should hand over Camelot to her.”

“No,” Iseldir forcefully interrupts, “no.”

“But wouldn’t it be better for everyone?”

“It is an incorrect assumption that many hold that the druids side with the high priestesses because we both follow and practice the old religion and have been allies in the past. We are our own people though and while we would like to see magic restored we know Morgana Pendragon has been corrupted. You could restore magic tomorrow and she would still not relent. Her heart has become cold and twisted and while it might have originally been her fear of prosecution that fueled her actions it was Morgause, daughter of Gorlois, that began her corruption. You are not to blame.” And it shouldn’t help. The words of some stranger shouldn’t have the ability to rip apart his world and set it right again but they do. “But that was not what you wanted to talk about.”

How this man can see right through him he has no idea. “I don’t know where to start, and I was taught small talk is only polite although it ended up leading us to a much bigger topic,” he admits and Iseldir smiles encouragingly. “My servant, Merlin,”

“Emrys to us.” Which only serves to confuse Arthur more, is it a title, some sort of honorary druid name?

“Yes, well, what is he doing here? And I assume he has been coming here every year? And you call him Emrys? Sorry, I guess I’m just asking why him?”

“Do you know what tonight is?” Iseldir asks seemingly off topic.

“It’s the longest night of the year, that’s why you are celebrating, right?”

“Yes, tonight is the winter solstice. In the old religion it is believed, as you might have heard earlier, that the God has been trapped in the underworld for some time and without him to provide energy in this world his energy has slowly been used up causing everything to become colder and darker and it is said if the God is not returned the world will be plunged into total darkness. On this night it is said the Goddess ventures into the underworld and retrieves the God and over the following months he will regain his strength, that is why we celebrate.

“When Emrys moved to Camelot we were ecstatic at how close he was. The children love our re-enactment and originally just wanted an excuse to meet him and couldn’t resist relating Camelot, a place where our kind was killed, to the underworld. He’s so good with the children and doesn’t mind us stealing him for the night though so it’s become a bit of a tradition.”

“They wanted to meet him, before they knew him?”

“Yes, Emrys is a legend among us, a prophecy that has been told since the time of the old kings.”

“And this Emrys is Merlin? My manservant, who can’t even manage to stay upright most of the time?

Iseldir laughs, “Yes it is a bit of a surprise to meet with a gangly youth when one is expecting an old wizened man.”

A touch of a smile graces Arthur’s face for a moment, “But what’s so great about Merlin then? Or at least why is this Emrys of this prophesy so important to you?”

“Emrys will protect and guide the Once and Future King and together they will bring magic back to the land and unite Albion bringing about a golden age for all.” And perhaps it is pompous of Arthur to automatically assume he is this Once and Future King but at the same time what other king does Merlin interact with? Not to mention Arthur secretly views him as one of his advisors, one of his best advisors.

“Excuse me,” Iseldir says, “I’m being called,” and even though Arthur didn’t hear anything the other man is up and moving away from the fire with more grace than any man his age should be capable of.

Arthur drains the last of his drink and is starting to feel awkward again when two young children hesitantly approach him. When it is clear they are not going to say anything he gives them a nod and a “hello.” This causes them to giggle and nudge each other a few times before they both step forward bringing their hands out front to reveal sprigs of holly.

“Can we decorate your hair?” The taller of the two asks.

Somewhat taken aback Arthur takes a moment to find his words before managing to get out, “All right.”

The children come closer and seem unafraid to manipulate him so that he has bent down enough that they can reach his head. There’s some uncomfortable pulling and poking but eventually they step back having finished. It might look presentable or it might look like a bird’s failed attempt to build a nest, he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, the late hour, or perhaps the magic of this night that causes him not to care.

“Come dance with us!” The smaller of the two exclaims before they both take his hands and pull him towards a circle of people.

It’s nothing like the parties in Camelot, perfection isn’t the aim. No one has hired talented singers and musicians, everyone joins in with song and while at first he does not because he doesn’t know them he soon joins in when he learns a few of the choruses. He is not the only one who doesn’t know all the words but people join in regardless, some just humming, some getting the words wrong, others already slurring. The dancing is lively and not the elegant courting process Arthur is accustomed to. There’s a lot of jumping and stomping and clapping, it’s fast paced and he finds himself out of breath and refreshing himself with more of the delicious wassail when he is parched. It’s not perfect, toes are stepped on, but it’s _fun_. Arthur finds himself laughing more often than not. In the back of his mind he realizes how strange it is that he feels more at home here, in a druid camp surrounded by strangers, than he does in his own castle surrounded by his court.

He’s just set down three small children he was dancing with and excused himself to grab some more wassail and some of the roast and stew, this type of dancing has him famished, when he hears his name, “Arthur?”

He realizes after he turns around and almost stumbles over his own feet that he might make quite the sight, too large piece of roast hanging from his mouth, pink cheeked from alcohol and dancing, holly falling out of his hair, and something sticky one of the kids has rubbed on him. And there’s Merlin. He looks… Arthur doesn’t really have the words to describe him in this moment, beautiful, fey, not at all like the gangly servant,… confused?… Confused, right!

He has enough sense to raise his hand to his mouth as he manages to chew and swallow his mouthful. “Merlin,” he says by way of greeting.

“What are you doing here?”

“I followed you, been trying to figure out where you’ve been running off to for years but keep forgetting to ask you.”

Merlin plops down on a nearby log and Arthur decides to sit next to him holding out his hunk of bread in offering and Merlin looks like he is going to refuse before he actually rips a small piece off and sticks it in his mouth. When he’s finished he says, “I’m afraid you could have asked all you wanted and I’d have no clue what you were talking about, I always forget about this come morning.” He takes a sip from his own goblet.

“Wait it happens to you too?”

“Wait, you mean forget forget, not, something-else-important-came-up-and-when-I-remembered-it-was-no-longer-relevant forget? But the actual can’t-recall-it-for-the-life-of-me-even-wrote-it-down-but-the-parchment-is-now-blank forget?”

“Wha—yes I guess.” They fall silent opting to share food to make it less awkward. “So… Emrys?” And there’s the Merlin Arthur knows, the fool manages to dribble his drink down his chin.

“They told you about that?”

“Well, Iseldir did when I asked but then he rushed off somewhere and I haven’t seen him since. Care to explain?”

“Ugh I bet Editha actually went into labour,” he says more to himself than Arthur before turning back to him. “I actually don’t know much about it, don’t look at me like that, I really don’t! As far as I was aware I was just a farmer until I came to Camelot but suddenly I have all these people telling me I have this great destiny and am supposed to be this great hero from an ancient prophesy who will save everyone. A part of me has always been in denial, at first it was kind of exciting, I always wanted to be more than a farmer, you know? But it quickly became too much, everyone kept looking at me to solve things, expecting me just to know what to do and to be able to do it, and I didn’t. Mind you most of the time it worked out in the end but it feels like it’s because I’ve been lucky and not because I’m some great, mystical figure.”

“And I’m the Once and Future King.”

Merlin makes an annoyed face, “Told you that too, did they?” Arthur nods taking another sip of his drink.

“Isn’t this a good thing Merlin? Whether we really are these characters or not we’re so close to the goals. I’ve signed treaties with almost every single country in Albion, come tomorrow I’ll begin to legalize magic now that I’ve been shown the truth all that’s left—“

“Wait, you’d legalize magic, just like that?”

“I’ve been told people are born with it Merlin, that they sometimes can’t control it. If it isn’t a choice then what right do I have to declare someone evil and sentence them to death, that’s no better than telling everyone with blond hair that they’re evil and shall be sentenced to death. So all that’s left, as I was saying, is to defeat Morgana.”

Merlin’s face morphs from shocked to joyous to depressed and Arthur’s not sure what he said to cause the sudden sadness. Does Merlin not want to fight Morgana, does he think she can still be saved?

“We won’t remember.”

“What?”

“We won’t remember this, any of this. Tomorrow we’ll wake up in our beds, perhaps a little more tired and sore than usual and we’ll go about our day as if tonight never happened, as if we never left our beds, or wherever you were when you got up and followed me.”

Arthur doesn’t know how to process this. “Why?” He finally asks. “Why can’t we remember? Is it them? Are they doing something because if they are surely we can ask them to spare us our memories tonight? They’ll understand, they have to, after all, this is what they want isn’t it? For magic to be returned to Camelot?” Merlin’s shaking his head somewhat violently causing his crown to rustle before he actually removes it playing with the antlers.

“Arthur…” he starts before looking down at his crown and sighing sadly. “Druids are tricky people and I won’t even pretend to understand them but I know that they are very passive people. They believe their role in life is to teach and maintain the old ways but never to become involved, that they mustn’t alter the path destiny has chosen. There is no way they will let us remember this, especially on this night.”

“What’s so special about the solstice?”

“It’s supposed to be one night of peace. Enemies used to feast together and the druids used to host but in doing so the enemies would come to understand each other a little better, would sometimes come to care for one another, wars could have been ended because of it and it would be the druid’s influence so their memories were erased. It’s become tradition now, we are allowed one night to celebrate and help aid the old magic, once we have made our contribution we must forget and will only remember again the next solstice. I suppose it’s part of what makes the night special. It’s the longest night of the year, we’re partying, we can practically do whatever we want and come morning we won’t remember any of it, not if we sang out of tune, or if we stepped on someone’s feet while dancing, or if we confessed our deepest secrets to someone because our tongues were too loose with alcohol.”

“Well maybe they’ll make an exception,” Arthur says optimistically, “we have to try Merlin.” But the other man is gazing over his shoulder now, “Merlin.”

Merlin looks back at him, “Sorry, I’m being called, they want me to bless the new baby,” and then he’s off, placing the crown back on his head and heading towards some distant tents where the main camp probably is.

“Why do people keep saying they’re being called for but I can’t hear anything,” he grumbles to himself finishing another goblet.

“Because you’re not listening.” He startles as a young woman sits next to him, she’s very beautiful, he notes. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You are forgiven. What do you mean I’m not listening?”

“You’re listening with your ears and not with your mind. Druids communicate telepathically most of the time. We like to be one with nature, the wildlife is more comfortable around us if we do not speak. What animal is constantly making noise to communicate? Noise to the animals normally is an expression of emotion, a signal that there is danger perhaps, or that they are the danger and are about to attack. We make an exception on this night with the hope that our cheer will be heard by the God and help him heal.”

“Forgive me,” he starts before he realizes he doesn’t know this woman’s name.

“Everleigh,” she supplies.

“That’s a beautiful name,” and some part of him is proud that it causes her to blush, “Forgive me Everleigh,” he continues, “I do not know much about the Old Religion except that there is more than one holy figure but I have only heard about the three goddesses, who is this god?”

She giggles, “The Mother, The Maiden, and The Crone, are one and the same, known collectively as the Triple Goddess, or The Lady. She can be thought of as the head goddess, if you will. The head god, known as the Horned God, or The Lord, is who we worship tonight. The druids at least do not view gods and goddesses as you do. Even the Lord and Lady are thought of to be the same thing, just different aspects. We believe in the divine, magic, life energy, whatever you wish to call it. There are two sides to it, we have named them Lord and Lady, but I have heard many other names, Ying and Yang, your Adam and Eve, black and white, good and evil. The world is not that clear cut though. Our other gods and goddesses are representations of certain traits, some of them were real people, pharaohs, kings, monks, even animals. As a king I take it you are well versed in Roman and Greek legend?”

“I wouldn’t say well versed but I know a bit. The great thinkers and such.”

“Have you heard of Eros or Cupid?”

“Both are gods of love, are they not?”

“Yes, for both the God and Goddess are capable of love and these two gods are good representation of a man’s love. Have you also heard of Ares and Mars?”

“Gods of war.”

“Yes, for the God is also capable of war yet love and the hatred of war often do not occur at the same time. While these gods are all a part of the God they are simply different aspects of the same being. Love and hate, life and death, might be easy things to imagine separately, we just say they occur at different times, but it becomes hard for someone to understand how something can be both male and female, hot and cold, day and night.”

“But this energy, it’s all of these things?” She nods.

“Certain characteristics have become more associated with different gods and goddesses. For example, the sun is thought of as being more of a God thing. This is the one sabbat that mainly focuses on the God, while he plays a part in every sabbat normally we focus more on the Goddess, how she transitions from maiden, to mother, to crone.”

Suddenly there are children pushing them nearly off the log screaming, “Mistletoe!” and Arthur looks at Everleigh hoping she explains. She’s gone bright crimson though and is looking away, his question is soon answered when the children start chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

She giggles nervously and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m sorry, it’s a stupid tradition meant to promote peace. It’s believed that enemies who stand beneath mistletoe shall become friends. We’re supposed to kiss to strengthen the magic of the mistletoe… You don’t have to of course!” She’s quick to add.

“Yes you do!” One of the boys shouts.

“Oh, Graeme give it a rest! He’s not a druid, he doesn’t even know about mistletoe, you can’t—“ But Arthur cuts her off pulling her into a kiss causing the children to cheer and then scatter. It’s a long kiss but not very passionate. In the back of his head he’s thinking of Guinevere but he doesn’t feel guilty, perhaps because it means nothing, perhaps because he felt somewhat forced, perhaps it’s just the alcohol, it’s not unpleasant but it’s nothing special either.

“Like that?” He asks her and she has this shy smile as she looks away.

“Yeah… sorry, my little brother, well, he likes to tease me.”

“Really? Because it seems like they are doing it to a lot of people.” Arthur observes as the small group runs to various pairs, the strange thing is not all of them are men and women, yet the two men or two women don’t even hesitate before giving the other a peck. Perhaps it is all in name of the holy day.

“Yeah, but you’re the only person here that doesn’t know the tradition. I don’t know much about Camelot, if I had just leaned in for a kiss you might have arrested me for trying to seduce you or for something about kissing someone outside my station or something!” She says the last bit with a laugh but Arthur can only muster a small smile, he suddenly realizes how old he is. This girl is probably no more than sixteen, he’s almost twice her age. What has he done in this life? If he were to die tomorrow how would he be remembered? He has no heir, magic is still punishable by death probably causing hundreds to hate him, his people need more celebrations like this to raise the cheer. And yet he won’t remember any of this, won’t be able to do anything come morning. There has to be a way.

As if summoned Iseldir suddenly sits beside him. “You had a request for me?” And if he knows that then he probably already knows his question and has made up his mind, but he’ll face this like he does all things in life, he won’t go down without a fight.

“I want to remember tonight or at the very least that magic isn’t evil, so that I may restore magic to Camelot. At least let me write it down or something.”

“You are true to yourself and that further makes me wish that I could grant your request but I cannot. I understand that the entirety of this situation is incomprehensible for you, our reasoning likely makes no sense, but at the very least please understand that I am not denying you to be cruel. There is a reason behind my actions but if you can’t understand that I hope you can understand that I’m simply being true to myself and my beliefs.”

And despite being told Arthur can’t help but say, “But this would benefit everyone, I don’t understand!”

“I’m sorry.” Is all Iseldir offers and it’s really hard right now to see him as someone other than the bad guy. “I’ve killed your festivity, please go enjoy yourself.”

“Forgive me but I think I will return to Camelot.” Iseldir frowns, obviously disappointed, but apparently Arthur is not a lost cause.

“This will be a dream.”

“I know, I won’t remember anything.” Not sure why the other man is reinforcing what Arthur already knows, he can’t help but feel Iseldir is rubbing it in.

“No, you will always be able to remember this night in your dreams. They say the average human spends a third of their life sleeping, would it not be nice to have something pleasant to call upon, to experience like it was the first time, every night? Go, redeem your evening, give yourself something to dream about.”

Arthur’s not feeling it though, “I mean no offence but I fear this dream has already been ruined. Perhaps I can redeem myself next year if I am permitted back?”

“Of course, we will welcome you with open arms,” so Arthur rises and makes to leave but then Iseldir says, “but these are troubled times we live in, there might not be a next year.” That halts Arthur in his tracks, what is this seemingly all-knowing druid trying to say?

“What do you mean?” He says unwilling to turn around.

“I’m not threatening you, nor am I foretelling your death Arthur Pendragon, you need not be so alarmed.  I am simply stating that these are dangerous times, your sister is ready to wage war and you will not live forever. We should enjoy life while we are still alive to live it, if we keep telling ourselves that we will enjoy it tomorrow eventually we will run out of tomorrows.” Arthur turns back around and Iseldir smiles kindly. “One cannot be certain what death holds, but if it is an eternal sleep as some claim, well, I would very much like to dream a pleasant dream. Here comes Emrys.” Sure enough Merlin’s making his way towards them. He stops before them and cocks his head in question and now that Arthur knows what to look for he can tell the two of them are communicating even if he can’t hear them, and then Iseldir leaves.

“Are you all right? I know they can be… a little much, I guess, with all their prophecies and cryptic warnings.”

“I’m fine, he said no, that’s all.”

“See I—,” he gives Merlin a glare before he can finish his seemingly favourite sentence, “sorry.” They are silent for a moment, Merlin’s managed to grab another goblet of wassail and hands it to him, he takes a sip before handing it back, appreciating the taste and warmth now more than ever.

“Where were you then?”

“Oh, one of the druids, Editha, gave birth and wanted me to bless the child. She’s a strange one. Last year she got married on this night and had me bless their hand fasting, she swore to me then that she’d get pregnant and have the child on the solstice this year and have me bless her babe. I said children and pregnancy weren’t something she could control but lo and behold she did it, go figure.”

“And she wanted your blessing because you’re Emrys?”

“Well, yes and no, if they really wanted to they could steal me away from your service for an afternoon and I could bless babies, weddings, the ill, whatever. But tonight I’m also a god,” he points to the antlers in case Arthur doesn’t understand, “apparently my blessing will now make her son a great hunter, a strong magician, and a handsome, well-desired man.”

He looks so ridiculous in that moment, pointing at his head with that grin, that Arthur can’t help but laugh, “I can’t imagine you blessing anything!” He says with a laugh trying to compare this image of Merlin to what he remembers of his father blessing noble born babes.

“I’ll have you know I’m a great blesser,” Merlin says feigning offence, “wait, blessinger? Blesseringer?”

“Oh my god, you’re completely sloshed aren’t you? How much of this stuff have you had?”

“I’m not that drunk, I’m not even slurring,” but he ruins it with a hiccup, “damn it, the cloves and cinaminaminiamon is supposed to make you mentally sharp.”

“Cinaminaminamon? Yes Merlin, you’re as smart as a rusted sword.” Merlin bursts out laughing and Arthur doesn’t know why.

“You’re doing it too. You said ‘smart as a rusted sword’, should be sharp.”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not! And even if I did smart works too!”

“Does not!”

“Does too.”

“Nuh-uh”

“Uh—“

“Mistletoe!” _Shit_. Merlin seems to be following his train of thought.

“Uh, do you know about mistletoe Arthur?”

“Ye—“

“Yes he does! Everliegh explained it to him and then he kissed her!” Arthur feels his face heat up even more if possible. However Merlin no longer looks uncomfortable.

“Well then,” and then Merlin’s lips are on his, he tastes of the wassail, his lips are soft, his face is smooth seemingly without even a hint of stubble. This time it feels special. He distantly registers cheering and that the children have run off but his eyes are closed and he’s focused on Merlin.

While he has long ago accepted that there is something beautiful about Merlin, something tavern owners apparently think preferable to his own royal features, he had never felt the need to do anything about it. It wasn’t like he spent all day admiring Merlin’s beauty, he had never thought about kissing him, but now it feels like the only thing he wants to do. Merlin didn’t wait for him to make the first move, of permission, and he isn’t relinquishing control either, it’s nice, to let someone else lead.

It’s Merlin, it’s always been Merlin. It’s safe to let Merlin lead because he has proven time and again that he will lead him to safety. It is safe to let Merlin dominate because he knows that Merlin will only do what is best for him. It is safe to let Merlin advise because he will never lead him astray. Merlin is loyal, Merlin is his, and he is Merlin’s. They’re of the same energy, yet two pieces of the same prophecy, together they are whole. This feels right, this feels like coming home, this feels like living, he feels young, invincible, that together they can face anything. Why hadn’t they done this sooner? They break and rest their foreheads together, giddy smiles on their lips when suddenly the music and chatter dies down as cries of “it’s time!” start to ring out.

“Ready?” Merlin whispers and even though Arthur should ask what he is preparing for he just nods, for he trusts Merlin more than anyone.

Merlin straightens his crown and then starts chanting, it’s loud, it’s somewhat somber, and it resonates in Arthur’s bones, as he moves to the almost burned out bonfire; someone has started to drum in time to Merlin’s song. As he makes his slow progression the other fires and torches slowly die down, the others hum in a repetitive pattern that matches Merlin’s chant and the drumming and by the time all the fires have died all the druids have cast little balls of light that they hold in their hands, they look familiar but Arthur cannot determine why. Everleigh is suddenly beside him and hands him one. It’s strange, it doesn’t feel like he’s holding anything, there’s no weight to it, no temperature, and yet he can cup his hands around the slightly hovering orb and if he doesn’t it begins to move away. He’s suddenly so fixated on the orb that he doesn’t realize they’ve stopped moving, now in a perfect circle around Merlin and he stands on top of the remains of the bonfire, the song is reaching its crescendo then abruptly stops. Everything stops. Arthur quickly creases his own hum and listens for a moment to the eerie silence. Then Iseldir, at least he thinks it’s Iseldir, starts to pray. Then they all say something in unison and Arthur can only keep his head bowed for he doesn’t understand the language nor can he join in. He does a double take when Merlin starts to float.

Arthur watches in awe as Merlin flies higher, his cloak and hair fanning out around him. Then he begins to glow. At first Arthur thinks he is seeing things but soon Merlin is shining, still rising, and Arthur briefly wonders how scary it is being that high up with seemingly nothing to support you. Arthur doesn’t know when Merlin is going to stop until suddenly he does and it falls silent again, Merlin far enough away that his outline is invisible and his light causes him to look like the sun. Then the light erupts away from him travelling across the sky in a circular pattern and the people cheer and throw their lights into the air, Arthur quick to follow, he’s so fixated on Merlin that he almost misses a tree manifesting from the remains of the bonfire. It’s a great fir and their lights affix to it like ice babbles and on the very top Merlin’s antlers seem to sit, the light still glowing between them looking like a star on top of the tree.

Merlin’s floating down toward him, crown gone and Arthur reaches up as if to catch him but need only guide him down into his arms. He’s cold, he realizes, up there it must have been freezing, being still without the protection of the trees and the warmth of the once burning fires, not to mention the people. Arthur wraps Merlin’s cloak tighter around him rubbing his arms and holding him close to warm him. Unexpectedly someone is offering them goblets of warm wassail and Arthur’s about to have Merlin drink from his goblet when Merlin protests. “Wait, you have to wait for everyone to get a goblet and then we do the wassailing ceremony, then we can drink.”

“Wassailing ceremony?”

“We toast the tree.”

“The tree?”

“Yes, prat, the tree, not you, but the tree that we all helped make, so be patient.”

Arthur just rolls his eyes. Sure enough a moment later Merlin’s separating from him to raise his goblet to the tree with the others and they’re all screaming “Huzzah!” They all down their beverages and then the fires burst to life again, although it’s darker because the bonfire is gone, and the music starts back up and Merlin’s pulling him into a dance claiming it’ll help him warm up.

They dance and they kiss, they drink and they eat, they talk and they cuddle for warmth as the others start to retire and the cold hits them. Arthur wishes for this night to never end. It’s magical, it’s like he’s become someone else. He’s happy, god, he’s happy, maybe because he’s in love. It feels like his entire being is composed entirely out of his love for Merlin, that he was create for this man and this man alone.  It seems impossible that come sunrise he’ll forget this essential part of him, forget that he loves Merlin even when the man is standing in front of him, but somehow he’s able to live in the moment. If he can only love Merlin tonight than he shall love him to the best of his ability.

He will love him so much that it will linger in their hearts come morning.

Spinning, he admires the shadows the fires cast on Merlin’s face.

His beauty shall be engraved in his mind’s eye.

Spinning, he appreciates being at ease enough to be held in Merlin’s arms.

His arms will feel empty without him.

Spinning, he leans in for another kiss, another taste of Merlin’s lips.

He will scour his kingdom to replicate the lingering taste.

Spinning, they’ve given up dancing but their cuddling has led to play fighting which has resulted in rolling down a hill.

Perhaps he will question the wet, dirt, and pine needles in his clothes.

Spinning, perhaps from alcohol, perhaps from love.

Spinning in the blue of Merlin’s eyes.

Spinning with the feeling of being pressed up along each other’s sides.

Spinning, the taste of Merlin’s lips.

Spinning, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, “I love you.”

Spinning, “I love you too.”

Spinning, Merlin, sunrise.

Spinning, whoa, why is the room spinning?

“Arthur, are you all right? You look rather pale.”

He looks at his wife, “Think I just got up too fast.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you, I know you were out late dealing with that family.” _Family? Oh, yes, that family._

“Yes, yes I was. I’m rather tired still, I think I’ll just lay here for a bit. There’s nothing important today anyway is there?” But it’s a rhetorical question and he doesn’t bother to listen to her response.

He yawns, “Yes, I think I’ll just lay here until Merlin…” he’s suddenly realizing his lips taste sweet, the spinning has resumed, the word “arrives” never makes it past his lips.

☼..❄..❆..❄..☼

He doesn’t live to celebrate next year’s solstice. He doesn’t really mind for Iseldir was right. As Avalon cleans him of this life and prepares him for the next he dreams. That joy, that love, the sweet taste of the wassail on the softness of Merlin’s lips, the way Merlin had flown and shone, the warmth of him as they cuddled, the strength of him as they danced, that magic, he will hold onto it forever.

Spinning, he reaches to brush the tears off of Merlin’s smiling face.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy winter solstice to all and to all a good night!


End file.
